Lemons
by Hello Sunshine
Summary: 4 couples, one fruit. Salty, Sweet, Sour and Bitter.


A/N: Just something that came to mind. I have three others planned to go with this, but also happen to have about 40 ton of reading to do, so we'll have to wait and see which one actually gets done first. This one is my guilty pleasure: some Ralphoebe. There is not nearly enough Ralphoebe on this site for my liking. Reviews are always _very_ appreciated, so remember, even if it's just you telling me that you really liked it, or even supplying some nice, constructive criticism, I'd love to hear what you think!! Enjoy!

Salt.

Shot.

Lemon.

Phoebe throws back her head and downs another shot. The strobe lights are flashing, reflecting along the surface of her glassy, deep green eyes. Her mascara is coated on thickly, her lashes curled to perfection. Her purple eyeliner is smudged in the perfect, sexy, smoky eyed look. Her auburn hair is pulled back into a tight, high ponytail; not one hair astray. She's wearing long dangling silver earrings, and a jumble of thin silver bangles on her wrists to match her hip-hugging, strapless deep purple dress. She's almost tottering in her silver stilettos that raise her up to be much taller then she ever wanted to be: but she's pretty proud to say that when she saw herself in the mirror she thought that she could have passed as a runway model.

She points a perfectly manicured nail at the bartender, indicating that she's ready for another shot. With a dubious look (although Phoebe notices that while dubious, it is also very approving) the bartender passes her another shot of tequila along with a slice of lemon. The salt shaker is already beside her, this isn't her first experience with the toe-curlingly bad liquor. 'Here we go,' Phoebe thinks, before counting to three and downing yet another shot. She quickly bites down on the lemon in her other hand and can barely taste the usual sour tang: only the nauseating salty aftertaste of rejection and humiliation.

"Had enough there Pheebs?" she hears a deep voice grumble to her right, close enough to be heard over the pounding music. She slowly turns her head to face the voice, coming eye to eye with gorgeous, fawn colored eyes. Her eyes focus further out to the facial features: full lips, strong cheek bones and a chiseled jaw, with just a hint of barely there scruff. His eyes are partially obscured by shaggy chestnut hair. Looking down she sees he is wearing a suit with a dark blue dress shirt and a white tie, currently undone and hanging loosely around his neck. True to form however, his feet are shoed in white Nike high-tops. The dark interior of the home bar, combined with the pulsing music and electrifying strobe lights leads Phoebe to believe that this person might just be a real model, stooping from his modelesque status to speak to her. Then she blinks and realizes that it's just Ralphie. Ralphie Tennelli, quarterback of the high school football team, friends with the current antagonist in her life and Phoebe signals for the bartender again. Ralphie signals the bartender as well.

"Well, I suppose if you're not done, you might as well have a drinking buddy so that someone can hold you up at the end of the night, right?" He slides casually into the bar stool beside her as Phoebe sways in spot for another stubborn moment before practically tumbling into her bar stool. They sit in silence for another second, Ralphie drumming his fingertips on the countertop and Phoebe staring resolutely ahead, the only thing betraying her apparent inebriation is her glassy, unfocused eyes. Her back is rigid, hands clenched in her lap, purple clutch long forgotten on the counter.

"You look nice," Ralphie attempts to supply, glancing sideways at his long time friend. Phoebe just nods jerkily and doesn't respond. Ralphie is suddenly struck with the thought that she might break down on him and sorely wishes he had brought some Kleenex with him. He glances around Janet's excessively large, excessively formal, excessively expensive party and rolls his eyes. Only Janet could throw a party like this and actually get everyone to dress up: Arnold's cousin threw notorious parties when her parents went away (which was often), and this month's theme had been 'The Hills chique'. When asked what that meant exactly, Janet had snottily turned up her nose and relpied:

"Just dress HM to my LC. Maybe throw in a little bit of Lo in there too. But don't outshine me, or you're not allowed in. I don't need any Kirstin's out doing me at my own party."

Ralphie was quickly informed that meant that it was some sort of diva, LA themed party. So he put on his good suit and walked right into the party, with a lecherous wink from Flo Anderson that he managed to avoid by coming into the somewhat less populated space by the indoor bar, where lo and behold, he managed to stumble across Phoebe Terese herself, currently attempting to drink herself into oblivion. With tequila no less: at least she ha decided to do it in style.

"So…" Ralphie attempts again, but is interrupted by the bartender placing two tequila shots in front of them. Robotically, Phoebe grabs the one on the left and takes a second before downing it.

"So, no cheers? Okay then…" Ralphie mutters to himself, clumsily shaking salt onto his hand.

"You know what bugs me?" Phoebe suddenly spews. And Ralphie tenses because he knows that this is just the beginning of a very long tirade. He has been friends with girls long enough to know when a rant is coming, and although he can't recall ever listening to Phoebe rant before, he is not overly surprised: it had to happen eventually.

"That people think that Wanda or Keesha or even DA dressed me tonight. Did my hair. My make-up. Picked out my shoes and accessories and sent me on my merry way." Phoebe swings clumsily around to face Ralphie and he stares back.

"Did you know that I have a real, vested interest in fashion? That I actually read magazines and follow trends, and pay attention to what's on the catwalks? That I watch make-up shows, that I go to a real hairdresser – an expensive one no less – and get advice? Apparently, when someone cares about the environment, and about being nice and compassionate and friendly, they are labeled as dopes that are unable to dress themselves or that they don't mind being made a fool of." Ralphie just continues to stare at Phoebe, who had such an intensely serious look in her eyes, he couldn't have laughed if he tried.

"I picked out this dress because I have killer curves that no one recognizes and purple makes my eyes really pop. Silver looks so much better with purples and blues and other coolers tones then gold does, and it's all over the runways right now, from Stella McCartney to Valentino. I pulled my hair back because I know I have strong enough features to carry it off. I get manicures and pedicures regularly. I have a huge array of makeup in every shade and I know how to use each and every brush I have. Did you know that Ralphie? Or did you just think that because Wanda's Asian she has this quirky sense of fashion that she uses to help out her friends, like me, with their fashion sense? Because she doesn't. Wanda doesn't know a thing about clothes or make-up unless she sees it on a tramp around the school or the streets and decides that she could probably do that. She's just lucky she's thin and pretty and that most things work on her. And DA just wears matching skirts and cardigans and just because she's got this girl-next-door persona, people think she's super cute. And Keesha has the Beyonce thing going on. But none of them know fashion like I do, none of them have their own style like I do; they just copy other people's styles and are commended for it. And I march to the beat of my own drum and people label me as some weird hippy, tree-hugging environmentalist who doesn't matter." Phoebe looks like she might throw up at any second, so Ralphie breaks eye contact for a second to give her some time to gather herself.

Salt.

Shot.

Lemon.

He takes his tequila shot and shudders at the salty aftertaste in his mouth. Lemon and liquor: what a terrible combination.

When he looks back, Phoebe is staring outside, around the exceptionally large pool. Ralphie can see Janet in their line of vision: curly red hair in a complex updo, slinky black dress hugging every curve, black stilettos looking like they had been created for her feet. And she is laughing and touching TJ Johnson, the running back for the football team. Ralphie feels a foggy warning light going off in his head.

"I thought TJ was taking you to the party" Ralphie murmurs finally. Phoebe doesn't take her gaze away from the oblivious couple.

"I thought so too," Phoebe murmurs softly. "Until he told me that he really only brought me to make Janet insanely jealous. Apparently she gets all hot and bothered when another girl – especially one she despises - has the man of the hour – or minute in her case." Ralphie continues to stare at Phoebe as she finally raises her eyes from the pool to the front of the bar again.

"I guess she can pretty much do whoever she wants to anyways. It's her party after all." Silence falls around them, regardless of the pounding music, and the swaying, hormonal drunk teenagers. Ralphie is suddenly aware of a salty, disgusting aftertaste in his mouth that has nothing to do with the tequila.

"TJ's an idiot" Ralphie declares. Phoebe manages a weak smile, but lowers her eyes to the counter top, playing with a lemon rind.

"I'm serious Phoebe. You are gorgeous. And if he doesn't notice you or think that you matter he doesn't know how wrong and delusional he is." Phoebe raises her eyes to meet his. Green and fawn clash in the dark space.

"Like, he obviously didn't know that you're favorite color is orange and that you wear it no matter how much it clashes with your hair; or that you need glasses but are too stubborn to admit, so you just squint at the board all day an wrinkle up your nose in this really cute way. Or how you actually are the most graceful and elegant person I know when you dance, even though you can't walk down the hallway without tripping. Or how you always have this little half smile on your face when we all get together, or when your Dad and you play chess. Or how, on September 26 every year you can barely function, but you manage to get through the day being nice to everyone and offering everything you have before going home and visiting your Mom's grave for hours into the night. Or how you don't even try to hide your freckles because you know that they make you absolutely gorgeous and unique," Ralphie stopped speaking and stared at the curious Phoebe. She looked at him quizzically, eyes narrowing, before she leaning across the short gap between them and pressing her soft, pink lips against his.

Ralphie tasted salt but was not at all displeased this time around.

Phoebe pulls back, still looking quizzical, but certainly less so then a minute ago.

"I think I'm going to go home," she decides suddenly, picking up her clutch. "I don't even like the Hills. Lauren Conrad thinks she's a fashion designer and Heidi Pratt is a stick with a boob job. And don't even get me started on Audrina," Phoebe warns him, slipping out of the bar stool, with only a slight sway in her stance. Ralphie just grins and stands as well, happily surprised that even with heels on, he still manages to be taller then her.

"Aw come on Phoebe! You can't go home now, you're already all dressed up all fancy and everything, it would be a shame to deny the people this breath-taking sight" Ralphie grins cheekily and Phoebe raises a slender eyebrow, but her shy smile belies any other action. He's sort of taken off guard that there was no blushing – maybe Phoebe was full of surprises after all.

"I can't stay here Ralphie-"

"I'm not saying we have to stay here," he interrupts, looking earnestly at her. Phoebe blinks and looks at him curiously, head tilting to the side.

"Then where would we go?"

"Casino," her eyes widen slightly.

"Casino?! Ralphie, the closest casino is like, 2 towns away!"

"And the night is still young Pheebs. Still more then enough time for this well dressed pair to make an entrance. What do you say Madame? Ready for some adventure?" Ralphie watches as she really considers this for a second before grinning and turning back to the bar. She grabs a handful of lemons in her hand and faces him again.

"Ready!" she thrusts her fist full of lemons in the air and he looks quizzically at her.

"I think I've kind of grown a little bit fond of lemons. Sometimes there are plenty of tasty surprises waiting to ambush you when you least expect it," she winks at him (Ralphie isn't really sure where she learned to do that, but is quite sure that he likes how dangerous it makes her look) and he takes her wrist, leading her through the crowds to his car, where a night full of driving, casinos and lemons wait for them. And better yet, no salty aftertaste this time around.


End file.
